The Thesaurus says trust is —

“To rely upon or place confidence in someone or something (usually followed by in or to)…”

So to trust is to believe that something will happen, or that someone will actually do what they said they would do.

A week ago I offered to lend a fairly new acquaintance  a reasonable sum of money.  She didn’t ask — I offered and after some deliberation she accepted saying she would pay me back next Tuesday — today.

I mentioned it to a couple of people and the reaction was the same — wow you’re game doing that, what if she doesn’t pay you back?

Well, I went with my gut feeling, and decided that I could trust her.  I felt happy about the whole deal and had no doubt that she would pay me back today.  Then at eight thirty this morning I got a text message from my new friend asking if I would be at home today.  I replied that I would be and returned to what I’d been doing — reading in bed.

Half an hour later the doorbell rang and there she was with the money — but there I was still in my pyjamas with bed hair and all!

So I’ve learnt to trust my gut instincts, something I never used to do.  Whenever I have a major decision to make, I now stop and think about what my gut is telling me.  If I have any qualms such as butterflies or find myself rubbing my tummy then I think about the ramifications of continuing.

Now I know — or I don’t think it’s  a scientifically proven method but for me it seems to work — listening to my body.

I’m sure there are times that you’ve felt uneasy around someone, or just met another and felt really comfortable with them.  That’s your gut instinct at work.  But for most of my life I’ve ignored it and made some really stupid decisions that when I look back on I can recall not feeling quite right with.

So when have you gone with your gut instincts?  Have there been times when you have made a decision with your head and felt uncomfortable about it?

Sadly a lot of the time we ignore our body, feed it crap and expect it to hold up under the strain.  Yet if we treat it right, and really listen to it then it won’t let us down.


Spring procrastination

I found myself getting excited when spring arrived — finally an end to those cold dreary winter days and the promise of some warmth, even sunshine.

Time to update the veggie garden with new plants that I can watch grow whilst I sip my morning coffee on the back decking.  Lovely.

Without consciously thinking about it (and calling it ‘Spring Cleaning) I started a re-organisation of my spare room.  It’s a task that has been calling me for a long time and is way overdue.  So I decided to re-organise the furniture first, then I started sorting through the cupboards culling madly.  I was well underway when one of my grandsons visited.  He looked at the mess and said “Didn’t you used to have a bed in here?”  to which I replied “Yes Zeke, it’s still here but I’ve hidden it for the moment!”

I set myself the goal of doing two to three hours a day for the next three days and I estimated that it would be looking awesome by the end of that.

But I got distracted — big time.

Now we are a few weeks down the track, and whilst I have achieved quite a lot, the room still isn’t finished.  Occasionally I enter and move a few things around but not really focusing on it so it remains a mess.  I guess part of the problem is that I don’t really need the room for much more than storage so it’s not an urgent task.

Yesterday I realised that this job has to be finished by Thursday afternoon as my youngest grandson will be staying overnight — that means I have to find the bed again!

Seriously it won’t take me too long to finish the job, but I often find myself getting bored with things I start — or perhaps it’s just the lure of another bright shiny thing that appeals more?  Not sure, but I see a pattern in my life where I start something with great enthusiasm and then it seems to fizzle.  I have several unfinished tasks around the house that probably won’t take me very long to complete yet I’m dithering.  I know that when they are finished I will feel great, have a sense of achievement yet even knowing that I still procrastinate.

Still I know I’m not the only one procrastinating — spring itself has been doing just that by giving us some beautiful days to make us think we can put our winter woolies away, then we have a few more cold days again.

But I know that when it finally makes up its mind, the weather will be awesome again — and my spare room will look amazing.


Of the many failings we have in being a part of the human race,  the one where we get attached to  objects, outcomes and feelings is probably the silliest.

Now theres probably nothing wrong with that, excepting for how we go about the attachment.

Starting with things —  take my car for instance.  I’m attached to it, I like it and at times I even love it.  But after all it is a ‘thing’ and cannot love me back — it gets me from A to B whenever I need it to as long as I keep it fuelled, watered and oiled.  I even spring for an occasional service to ensure it keeps going.  Its comfortable with a heater and air conditioner that work really well; the fuel economy is good and theres’ enough power in the engine to get me out of a sticky situation on the road.   I pay the registration to entitle me to drive it on the road, as well as insurance— but in the end it is just a car, it does what it was designed to do and thats that.

Then there is the house I live in. I like it as well, and at times I even love it.  But really it is a roof over my head, somewhere I can store all the other ‘things’ I’ve collected over the years.  Someplace I can cook meals, relax, entertain and tend the garden as I grow vegetables and herbs to use.  Yes, I am nesting, making it a more comfortable place to live in — especially as I spend quite a lot of time here.  For the past nineteen years I’ve made sure that the mortgage that is in mine and Ross’s names is paid on time, that insurance and rates are paid, but I’ve only lived in it for around two and a half years.  So yes I’m attached to it, but I’m not living for it and if I had to walk away from it I could.  Yes, its in a good location and has most of what we need, but it is also part of a breakdown in a family relationship and for that reason alone I won’t become too emotionally attached to it.

A natural part of our make-up is to become attached emotionally to people.  Most of us do.  The first is usually to our family, although some people seem to have no qualms about walking away from that.  Each to his own as the saying goes.

We make friends at school, our workplace and develop our own social life away from home.  Some of those friendships last our lifetime, many move on and are only remembered occasionally, if at all.  Tomorrow we farewell a friend we’ve known for over four decades, and it will be a very somber  occasion at first.  Later we will reminisce over the memories we’ve gathered in that time.  We will probably laugh a lot, and shed a few tears, so sad —but it will be good.

Occasionally we can let our attachments develop into obsessions — being too hung up on the outcome of what we desire to deal with it rationally.  We can become too attached to an outcome to really enjoy life.  Often more concerned about looking good to consider what is vital.

When all is said and done it is the people you have in your life that are the most important — not the possessions.

Expected, yet sudden.

Death always seems to come suddenly, even when you know it is the expected outcome of a terminal illness.

This morning we are shocked to hear of the death of a dear friend, whose mortal life has ended.  She had suffered for a long time, and her family  along with her.  But in every aspect of her illness, she met the setbacks with simple courage, grace and wisdom.

I didn’t  see her that often but when we met, she never complained, just kept right on living her life to the fullest, tackling the next creative project with vigour.

She will be sorely missed by her family, her husband of forty-five years, her daughters, son-in-laws and her grandchildren.  Then there are her surviving siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews and her ever expanding circle of friends.

So at some point in the next few days we will all meet to say our last goodbyes, we’ll listen to eulogies from family and friends, shed tears for our loss and catch up with those we haven’t seen for years.    It will be quite a contrast to the funeral we attended last week for the ninety year old father of friends.  Then we celebrated a life well lived with goals achieved and a simple sadness that we will not see him anymore.

The next funeral we go to will have sadness, raw grief for a life cut short.  A life that still had much to accomplish, as that was her way — to take on more new challenges conquering them before moving on to the next.

So we grieve — those of us left behind, but I’d like to remember — with love, gratitude and thanks for having known her.

And I’d like to imagine that I will have at least a fraction of the courage she showed when faced with death.

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.

Love leaves a memory no one can steal. — From an old Irish headstone.

R.I.P Louise.

How many adults do you have??

Kids, little ones, children, nippers, rug rats and so on.  Some of the many names that refer to our offspring.

Another thing that bothers me is when we talk about our daughters and sons  it is usually spoken as sons & daughters.  Whatever happened to ladies before gentlemen?

Perhaps I’m being old fashioned or bloody minded, whatever.  I’m just fresh from a long drawn out phone conversation with one of the big four banks trying to close a credit card without having to pay the annual fee.  I’d already tried at the branch but all they would do is wipe the interest they’d put on the annual fee and acting smug about how good they were to do that.

So today I told the representative – who had showered me with lots of “My lovelies and Loves” whilst we talked, that she was my last point of call before I went to the Ombudsman.  I also said I’d been reading an article from the front page of The Australian citing that the big four are reaping billions in fees.  So perhaps that had something to do with her co-operation.  Account satisfactorily closed.

But I digress.  Rant over.

I’ve been wondering, and asking a few people why we still call our children ‘children’ — even when they are adults and often bigger than we are?

Even though I’m obviously not a young woman anymore, people still ask ‘How many children you have?’  When they are grown up and adults!  It doesn’t really make sense to me.  I don’t make any decisions for them anymore, nor do I have any responsibility in any way yet they are still referred to as my children.

So, point to ponder — when was the last time you were asked ‘How many adults do you have?’